We Own the Night
by Annaleise Marie
Summary: They can't see each other, can't speak during the day. No one would ever understand or accept it. But when the sun goes down, they own the night. songfic, Dramione, lemons, oneshot


**We Own the Night  
><strong>Annaleise Marie

**Summary**: They can't see each other, can't speak during the day. No one would ever understand or accept it. But when the sun goes down, they own the night. [songfic, Dramione, lemons, oneshot]

**AN**: Song used is "Because the Night" by 10,000 Maniacs. Credit where credit is due, yeah?

/

She never meets my eyes when our paths cross. We eat in the same hall, walk the same corridors, sit through the same classes, our heads bowed over our books and our eyes dutifully diverted. She laughs with her friends, and they're touchy. Too touchy. Too familiar with her. He'll touch her, his hand too comfortable on her arm.

My hand flexes under the table in Potions and I resist the urge to jump up and rip his arm off.

I can't do that, you see. Because then they would know. Then it would be obvious. But it wouldn't be okay. They would never understand.

But sometimes her eyes flick over towards the Slytherin side of the room, and she'll swivel in her chair, her knees pointing towards me as her legs open slowly to allow her to cross them at the knees, and I'll glance her lace-trimmed knickers, and that was intentional, I knew. That was just for me.

So was the way she placed the end of her quill between her lips, teased it gently as she gazed over the instructions for the day. And in the same way when I felt her looking at me, I'd wet my lips, knowing she'd see the quick dart of my tongue, and I could practically feel her blush, smell her arousal from across the room.

Although that last bit, I'm sure, was largely my imagination.

Potions was our only class together in our final year. It was also the last class of the day.

Which is good, because if it had been any earlier, I may not have made it through the day without embarrassing myself. But after this class, we would be returning to the Heads quarters before, and she would be waiting, because no matter how hard I tried she always beat me there.

_Take me now baby, here as I am,  
>hold me close, try to understand.<br>Desire is hunger, is the fire I breathe,  
>love is a banquet on which we feed.<em>

And she would be sitting on the arm of the couch, those shapely legs crossed again, her skirt riding up, trapped between her firm ass and the upholstery, and my hands would immediately start itching to slide under the hem, to tease her smooth skin, and that's what I would do.

And I would fall to my knees and bury my face in her lap for a moment of comfort, inhaling her warm, sweet scent. And she would run her fingers through my hair, her nails grazing my scalp just hard enough to send chills down my spine, and that would ignite something within me.

I'd look up at her, and her eyes would be dark as she gazed back, her honey brown irises shining a deep amber, and when I move up her body I would see my own, a dark steel, reflected back at me. And then our lips would meet, and her hand would tighten in my hair as the other moved to twist into my shirt, or wrap my tie around her hand, tethering me close to her.

Gods, I loved when she did that.

_Come on now, try to understand  
>the way I feel under your command.<br>Take my hand, come under cover,  
>they can't hurt you now.<em>

And then it would be a battle, because we've always fought, and it's how we relate. But she will win, because just like that time she punched me in third year, or all those times since, she always wins. And then I'll be on my back on the couch, or the floor if the battle was a bit more desperate, and she'll be over me, braced on her hands and knees as she glares down at me. Then she'll drop to her elbows, so that her hair falls around us like a curtain, and her lips would meet mine again, but because she's won this time she would be gentle. It would be slow, and sweet, and bloody fucking _maddening_.

And then she'd move, just slightly, so that her warm core teased my hard cock through my trousers, and I wondered if she even realized she was doing it. I thought she did, because I had never been more aware of anything in my life.

But we would take it slow, because we only had the nights – but we had all night. At night she was mine, and I was hers. And I loved every second of it.

Then I would place my hands on her waist, and guide her back as I sit up, and at this angle I can easily move to kiss across her jaw, down her neck, to suck on her collarbone, just the way I know she likes it. And as I do this, I pull at her tie until it comes undone, tossing it across the room, not giving a damn where it lands, and then pluck at the buttons of her shirt, kissing and sucking at every inch of skin exposed as I go.

And when I hit a particularly sensitive spot, she would throw her head back and gasp, her eyes fluttering shut and her hands tangling in my hair again. She loves to do that shit. When she pulls too hard, I nip at her skin and she hisses, only pulling tighter for a moment before her grip loosens.

Then her shirt would be shrugged from her shoulders and she'd pull me by my tie again up to meet her mouth as she does the same for me, but not near as gently, tearing a few of the buttons off of my shirt and leaving it hanging from my shoulders before pushing me back to lie down again. And I would groan because Gods, what a sight, as she rests one hand on my chest to keep my anchored to the floor and reaches behind her with the other to unclasp her lacy red bra

_Because the night belongs to lovers,  
>because the night belongs to lust.<br>Because the night belongs to lovers,  
>because the night belongs to us.<em>

And then she would grin as she flung it away to join her tie somewhere in the abyss, and she would lean down to kiss me hungrily, the fire building as we're chest-to-chest and skin-to-skin, and I can't help but grind up into her a bit and she groans and bites my lip, gently. And then she'd pull away and I'd try to follow her, not ready to lose that contact, but she'd move and then she'd be standing, leaving me slightly confused and alone, staring at her.

And she'd coax me to follow her with one finger, and she'd leave me there as she sauntered to my bedroom, because she likes my sheets. And like a sick puppy I'd follow after her, practically panting, needing to have my hands on her and hers on me.

Needing... so much more.

And on the way I'd step over her skirt, and then her knickers, and I'd shuck my pants, nearly tripping myself in my haste, so that by the time I make it to my bed, where she's already stretched out, every inch of her on display to my hungry gaze, I'd be just as bare as her.

And from there it would be natural, the way we fall together, and her leg hooks around my hip, her heel digging into my thigh, and I'd bury my face against her chest, and by the time I slide home I nearly cry because she is _so fucking perfect _and _she is mine_.

_Have I doubt baby, when I'm alone,  
>love is a ring on the telephone.<br>Love is an angel, disguised as lust  
>here in our bed until the morning comes.<em>

And I would tell her so, in soft whispers and gasped proclamations as we move together, and she would cry out her agreement, her hands forming claws against the skin of my shoulders and back, enough pain to stave off the inevitable, but not enough to stop it, and the world begins getting smaller, until it's just her and me and it's _so fucking perfect_.

And then she'd move, and I'd lose her heat, and I'd nearly cry out at the loss, but then I'd be on my back and she'd be over me, and then the heat would be back, and I'd groan, letting my head fall back as she rose and fell over me. And she'd be so tight, and so wet, and I couldn't resist thrusting up into her if I wanted to.

And then her head would be thrown back, her mouth open wide as she cried out, her walls clamping down around me. I'd let one arm fall over my eyes as I count backwards from ten, slowly, riding out her climax.

And then she'd be under me again, because she'd gotten hers, and now it was my turn.

But not yet.

_Come on now, try to understand  
>the way I feel under your command.<br>Take my hand, come under cover,  
>they can't hurt you now. <em>

I'd slide down her body, pausing to gently suck and nip each nipple, feeling her come alive again under me, and her hands would go to my shoulders, gently kneading, encouraging. And finally I'd settle between her knees, hooking my arms around her thighs, anchoring her close to my chest, her knees dangling over my shoulders.

And then I'd taste her – one long, slow swipe over her most sensitive spots, and she'd tangle her hands in my hair, pushing me harder against her. And I'd oblige her, happily. I would lick her dripping cunt, dipping my tongue into her opening, sucking on her swollen clit, until she's a practically a puddle underneath me, only screaming half words now, stuttering my name, more of her juices dripping out each time her muscles flexed, every time she got closer.

I fucking _loved it._

And then, when she was nearly incoherent, ready to lose her mind, I'd move, and then I'd be inside her again, and she'd gasp in surprise before screaming, arching her back and coming hard on my dick. And this time I wasn't counting, wasn't holding on. I pounded into her with everything I had, through her spasming walls, letting her milk me, letting her drag me closer to the edge, and then over it.

_Because the night belongs to lovers,  
>because the night belongs to lust.<br>Because the night belongs to lovers,  
>because the night belongs to us.<em>

And when it was over, we'd lay there, trying to catch our breath, and then she would laugh, a happy, careless sound. And when I had just barely recovered, she'd swing her leg over my hips, and it would be time to go again.

And I loved her. And I would tell her. But that, she would never answer. Because she wouldn't be able to answer. If we both felt the same way, we wouldn't be able to hide it anymore. So for tonight, I could love her. And maybe tomorrow, she would love me, although it would hurt when I had to hold it in. But tonight I would pour it out, let out all of my love. I would whisper it, and cry it, and do everything I could to show it.

But only for the night. The next day...

_With love we sleep, with doubt the vicious circle turns, and burns.  
>Without you I cannot live, forgive the yearning burning.<br>I believe in love too real to feel.  
>Take me now, take me now, take me now...<em>

The next day, she wouldn't meet my eyes when our paths crossed. We would eat in the same hall, walk the same corridors, sit through the same classes, our heads bowed over our books and our eyes dutifully diverted. She would laugh with her friends, and they'd be touchy. Too touchy. Too familiar with her. He'd touch her, his hand too comfortable on her arm.

My hand would flex under the table in Potions and I'd resist the urge to jump up and rip his arm off.

I can't do that, you see. Because then they would know. Then it would be obvious. But it wouldn't be okay. They would never understand.

But sometimes her eyes would flick over towards the Slytherin side of the room, and she'd swivel in her chair, her knees pointing towards me as her legs open slowly to allow her to cross them at the knees, and I'll glance her lace-trimmed knickers, and that was intentional, I knew. That was just for me.

So was the way she placed the end of her quill between her lips, teased it gently as she gazed over the instructions for the day. And in the same way when I felt her looking at me, I'd wet my lips, knowing she'd see the quick dart of my tongue, and I could practically feel her blush, smell her arousal from across the room.

Although that last bit, I'm sure, was largely my imagination.

Potions was our only class together in our final year. It was also the last class of the day.

Which is good, because if it had been any earlier, I may not have made it through the day without embarrassing myself. But after this class, we would be returning to the Heads quarters before dinner, and she would be waiting, because no matter how hard I tried she always beat me there.

_Because the night belongs to lovers,  
>because the night belongs to lust.<br>Because the night belongs to lovers,  
>because the night belongs to us.<em>

_/_

**AN**: I rarely write o/s lemons, preferring a bit of plot, but this just came to me the other day, and I couldn't help it. I'm really happy with how it turned out, but I've never used this sort of narrative before, so I'm a little nervous about that.

I'd appreciate any feedback! So if you have time, drop me a quick line. Thanks so much for reading, and I hope to see you in my other stories, if you liked this!


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